


nobody

by eichart



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: '17-'18 Season, Buffalo Sabres, M/M, just a quick throwback okay...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 15:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18967732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eichart/pseuds/eichart
Summary: Risto has a way of making Jake unsettled....Alternatively, Risto's response to Jake referring to himself as a "nobody."





	nobody

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rawrimmapanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrimmapanda/gifts).



> For Cassie, on your special day.

It’s an off day when there’s a knock on Jake’s door. No one texted him that they were coming over, nor yelled the fact at him when they’d gotten in from Columbus late the night before, so he elects to ignore it until the knocking gets frustratingly loud and insistent and he no longer can.

He tugs open the door rather unceremoniously with a sigh, and--

“ _ Risto? _ ” Jake doesn’t even bother veiling the incredulousness in his voice. Risto doesn’t seem to register it anyway as he pushes past Jake without a word, barely kicking off his shoes before disappearing down the hall into his kitchen. “Hi to you too,” grumbles Jake as he shuts the door and trails back after him decidedly much slower.

By the time Jake gets back to his kitchen, Risto is pacing the small tiled area between the island and his counter, back and forth and back and forth like some caged lion. His hair certainly looks less kept than normal, Jake notes, observing the unusually messy blonde tendrils falling haphazardly like someone had run their hands through them several times. If he gets the urge to do so himself, the thought is not quite fully realized.

“Are you okay?” He asks uncertainly after a few beats of silence, his annoyance undermined by faint waves of concern.

More silence. More pacing.

“Okay, well do you want something to drink? Eat?”

Risto doesn’t respond to that either much to Jake’s increasing frustration, but he does at least stop pacing. Jake crosses his arms, quirks an eyebrow in expectation of some sort of explanation, and is presented with none.

Now that the ceaseless movement has stopped, Jake can see the look of set determination on Risto’s face --- the one he wears before he’s about to lay down a big hit at the blue line. Seeing it in the relative safety of his kitchen throws him a bit though. He huffs out a sigh and tried again, “If you’re not going to—“

“You’re not,” Risto interrupts suddenly.

Jake frowns, confusion obvious in his face and voice. “I’m not— ?” he echoes, “Are you sure you’re okay. I thought you looked a little--”

“You’re not a nobody.”

Jake is shocked into a brief silence. “Is  _ that _ what yo---” he begins, incredulous until he meets the fervency in Risto’s gaze. His sentence trails off, mouth working at words but nothing coming out. Risto lists back into silence as well, but his gaze remains intense as ever --- ice blue and unwavering in a way that’s always made Jake feel a little unsteady. He’s not accustomed to that really; not used to his footing so easily upturned. That’s what he’s  _ good _ at: slipping easily into where he needs to be, never overstepping, always knowing exactly what he needs to do and who he needs to be.

He’s nobody. Everybody. Anybody.

Jake looks away from the scrutinizing gaze to the dark granite of his countertops. “I almost forgot about that,” he says finally. Even now just barely touching the end of October, summer feels like an impossibly long time ago; even longer since he and Duffer took that boat ride for the Beyond Blue and Gold footage. Charging out of the gates with five impressive losses in a row wasn’t exactly how anyone wanted to start the season, and hadn’t done anyone any favors.

“Do you really think that?”

Jake’s gaze flickers back to Risto at the unexpected softness of his voice, struggling to identify sound of  _ something _ else in the tones as well --- concern? worry? It’s difficult to read on him; even more so to get a read without the bias hope that plagues his own thoughts.

He elects not to answer that either, moving instead to fill himself a glass of water more for something to do than anything. It dawns on him too late that the task brings him close to where Risto leans against the counter, gaze carefully tracking his every move.

Jake hesitates a moment before settling against the kitchen island just opposite to him, glass brought to his lips at he takes the tiniest sip of water. He avoids his gaze, instead focusing on his own socked feet and the barest strip of pale skin between Risto’s rucked t-shirt and band of his sweatpants. “Did you really watch the Beyond Blue and Gold the moment they dropped it?” He asks finally, aiming for a chirp in a feeble attempt this conversation back on track. It sounds weak even to him.

“You were in it,” Risto says, rather matter-of-fact; like that explains everything --- which  _ no, _ only makes Jake’s head hurt more because what is  _ that _ supposed to mean? “You didn’t answer the question.”

So much for back on track conversations.

“I mean it’s the truth, isn’t it? I know what I do: I play. I defend. I do my job. I’m not Eichs with flashy plays or even  _ you _ \--”

“That doesn’t mean you’re  _ nobody _ , Jake.” Risto sounds pained as he says it, like he can’t bear to hear what he’s saying, and that makes little sense to Jake.

“It doesn’t bother me --- I never exactly planned to play hockey for the fame. I don’t see why this bothers  _ you  _ so goddamn mu---” At that, Risto rolls his eyes with a huff of a laugh like he’s saying something so goddamn stupid he can’t believe his ears, and that  _ does _ bother Jake. “--- _ what? _ ”

A shake of a head, pale hair falling over blue eyes, is the only response he gets --- which only serves to incite him further as Risto huffs a sigh out, muttering something in muddled, inaudible Finnish below his breath as he begins to walk out the way he came. And that just won’t do.

“Risto?  _ Risto _ . Fucking hell---” Jake leaves his water on the counter and starts off after him, “Are you going to tell me anything, you---” He’s cut off as Risto wheels around suddenly before the door.

He glimpses that look of determination again --the one Risto wears at the point of the power play and just before a face off when he’s urgently telling him the set play-- just barely registering it and wondering what it means this time before Risto’s grabbing his shoulders, stumbling forward (or maybe it’s him stumbling into Risto) to bring their lips to meet in an imperfectly perfect moment.

It’s far from a firework worthy kiss, more embarrassingly chaste and slightly lopsided than anything, but Jake’s brain still short circuits at unexpectedness of it all.

( part of it trembles a little like an exhale, like maybe a piece of him has been waiting, craving,  _ hoping _ for this for so long ).

He finally unfreezes enough to respond, lips plait and hands seeking purchase along Risto’s back before he pulls back too soon, their foreheads still just touching.

“You’re not --- you’re not nobody to me,” Risto breathes, just barely above a whisper. A note like a plea in his voice. “---to me you will always be someone.”

When Jake meets his gaze there’s still the intensity of the game there but undermined by depths of concern, admiration, vulnerability. And he gets it then, the puzzle pieces finally slotting to reveal a crystal clear image. Before him, Risto remains still, seemingly waiting for a response even as the two of them remain achingly close.

Jake shuts his eyes and breathes. It’s hard not to be hyper aware of every touch now: the heat from the palms on his shoulders, the slight caress of each exhale, the flex and subtle movement of muscle beneath his own fingers. His thoughts buzz a million a second, a cacophony of  _ what ifs _ and  _ finally, finally, finally _ and  _ what next? _

When he opens them again, it’s like moving through the surrealness of a dream as palm cups the cut of Risto’s jaw, thumb just barely touching the corner of his mouth. And it’s just inches now… less than mere inches between their lips.

Actions over words; that’s been him for years and years, on the ice and off, and now he closes that last space between them. They meet again and Risto seems to sigh into the kiss, hands moving from shoulders to back to wrap around him bringing them impossibly close together. One of them makes a soft sound, lips parting as the kiss deepens, as Jake allows himself to be someone rather than no one.

It’s not perfect, but no one would ever expect them to be.

Instead in this moment, Jake’s struck by how  _ easy _ this could be, like the first time Dan paired them mid-game and he’d just felt so  _ balanced _ \--

\---like he does now.

His slides his hands into Risto’s hair and for the first time he feels settled, like maybe here he’s finally found his footing.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Cassie,
> 
> This was honestly the product of two hours of really fast writing bc I thought of the idea too late, so I'm sorry the product couldn't be a bit better/longer, but I hope you enjoyed all the same and that you had a wonderful day!
> 
> ...
> 
> For those who don't know exactly what this refers to, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=osiJs1iMD6g) is Jake's BBG where he says "Don't worry about me, I'm just a nobody."
> 
> As always, you can find and chat with me at [eichhart](https://eichhart.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
